Ӧalee
by Kukui
Summary: Ӧalee is a child of the east and she is an enigma that Aragorn can't even imagine figuring out. She is a mere child, perhaps even a baby next to his age, but her wiseness goes beyond even himself. She ignores him most times but when she talks only sarcastic comments leave her mouth. But he has to admit he owes her his life since she pulled him out of the hellish Harad wasteland.


**Chapter 1: An Impossible Quest**

Whenever Gandalf required his audience, or anyone's audience for that matter, it meant it was time for one of his, favors, more accurately: quests. And of course, any favor or quests of Gandalf's were not simple ones. They were filled with much danger and required much time. Last time, Aragorn found himself wrapped up in one of those quests, tracking down a strange looking hobbit named Gollum who attained his frightful and unrecognizable features (that of a hobbit) from holding onto the One Ring far too long. And that had taken much more time and effort than Aragorn would've preferred. That time could've been spent with his beloved Arwen in Rivendell. Reluctantly, Aragorn had to admit though, the quest was necessary for the sake of Middle-Earth. With Mordor and its master, Sauron, rising in power, certain quests called for completion. The capture and interrogation of Gollum revealed the current location of the One Ring, a secret that the enemy absolutely should not know. With Gollum safely tucked away in Mirkwood, the location of the One Ring should stay safe and Middle-Earth can perhaps stay in peace a little while longer, and Aragorn could play the scruffy Ranger named Strider a little while longer too.

When Aragorn spotted the grey wizard strolling through the gates of Rivendell and approaching him for a greeting, Aragorn almost felt the need to roll his eyes and greet the old wizard with something along the lines of "what quest do you need me to complete this time?" But being brought up by Elrond and his strictness about properness, and having lived a long life rounding about 70 years, Aragorn refrained from doing so.

"Well met, Aragorn," Gandalf gave him an eye crinkling smile, with much mirth that it almost tricked Aragorn into thinking that he brought no ill news or dangerous requests.

"Well met Gandalf," Aragorn responded quickly, giving the old wizard a small crack of a smile. One filled with little mirth and much painful anticipation.

Gandalf continued to stroll onwards, paying no heed to Aragorn's pained expression or perhaps he had gotten too old now and missed his pained expression altogether, and headed for some benches underneath a gazebo a few meters away from the golden gates of Rivendell. Aragorn strolled alongside the old wizard, not wanting to outpace him to the gazebo even though he knew it was the wizard's intended destination for that would be a rude thing to do. Giving a contented sigh as he sat, the old wizard took a few more deep breaths to breathe in as much of the fresh and earthy air of Rivendell as possible. Being in many dark places as he's been, it was finally nice to breathe clean and open air. With no rush, Gandalf reached into his pocket for his beloved smoking pipe and then again in his other pocket for some pipe-weed. Aragorn silently watched the wizard tap some weed into his pipe and light a small fire with his magic.

"Would you like some?" Gandalf offered the remaining pipe-weed to Aragorn, catching the Dunedain's impatient stare this time but misinterpreting it as a plea for some of his pipe-weed.

"No thank you," Aragorn politely declined, secretly wishing Gandalf would just get on with it and tell him the reason behind his summoning.

"Suit yourself," the old wizard shrugged and stuffed the packet inside his pockets.

Aragorn had no idea how much time had passed before Gandalf began speaking again. He had blown nothing but smoke rings up towards the sky. Aragorn guessed it was most likely around fifteen minutes. Just as Aragorn was at his limits on his patience Gandalf finally started up the conversation. It was as if Gandalf was testing him but Aragorn knew with complete assurance that he was just being an old wizard.

"Have you heard of the Blue Wizards?" Asked Gandalf leisurely, a tone of voice that one would use to strike up a friendly conversation.

"I've heard of them, but I know very little about them. Lord Elrond, when I was younger, once told me they traveled east with Sarumon the White during the Second Age in attempt to convert the Easterlings into siding with the west. Sarumon was the only one who returned from that journey." Aragorn cited what he could recall from his studies with Elrond during his youngling days at Rivendell.

"That is correct, my friend. No one has heard from them in centuries, and I fear for them. Though I am very much sure they are alive, I would like to know their whereabouts and furthermore, they could very well aid us with this upcoming darkness. One cannot have too many wizards on his side."

The upcoming darkness. Aragorn feared for it. It meant that he would have to abandon his ways of a ranger and take up what he was born to be, a king, and that brought a heavy burden of trepidation on his shoulders. He would have to go to war and come back as a king or not at all. If he could will it, he would pass on his duties as heir of Isildur onto another in flash (although he really wouldn't wish for such a burden to weigh down someone else either), and be born in another era where this approaching darkness did not exist.

"Well, what is it that you want me to do?" Aragorn sighed to the wizard, daring to push the wizard to quicken his pace in telling him of his request.

"Patience, Aragorn son of Arathorn," said Gandalf. _I have been_ , Aragorn thought wryly. "That is what you need on this quest I have for you, for it will be a long and dangerous one." Gandalf added after another smoke from his pipe, adding unneeded anxiety for Aragorn.

A deep unnerving feeling in his chest gave Aragorn a thought of never seeing Arwen again. This quest was going to be like none other, he already knew it.

"You must journey east, past the border of Rhonavion, where not even I have ventured into. Into the lands of Rhûn, Khand, and Harad, you must find the Blue Wizards' hiding spot, seek their counsel about the approaching darkness from Mordor, and gather new hope for the Free-Peoples of Middle Earth."

Aragorn waited for Gandalf to continue but he did not. When the silence went on for too long, Aragorn prodded for more information, "The east is a large place and little is known."

"I do not know where the Blue Wizards will be if that is what you are asking, but I have a strong feeling that they may be in the south, in Harad," said Gandalf seriously, sighing deeply, a sign of worry and disappointment in himself. "I am very sorry that I cannot offer you more information."

Aragorn immediately understood the seriousness of the quest (despite it being a blind and wild goose chase). Should he succeed, the Free Peoples of Middle Earth gain an advantage over the approaching threat of Sauron's return and should he fail, then Sauron would gain an advantage. And, with balance of power between the dark and light forces so different, the Free Peoples of Middle Earth need every advantage they can salvage.

"Do not fret, my child, should you fail just make sure to bring me back some souvenirs from the east," said Gandalf, returning to his mirthful demeanor as he stood up and approached the golden gates of Rivendell to leave for his own errands and quests. "I heard the east is known for their pipe-weed and tea leaves."

As much as Aragorn hated being called a child, he decided to let the wizard call him that without complaint. He supposed since he himself was only perhaps one-thousandths of Gandalf's age that he indeed could be called a child by the Grey Wizard. And, when he brought up the thought of bringing him back some souvenirs from the East, Aragorn couldn't help but laugh. So now he had two missions. Find the Blue Wizards and bring Gandalf back some souvenirs.

XXX

"Estel, dear brother of ours, I heard from Ada that you are traveling east." Aragorn was approached by two identical looking elves, Elrohir and Elladan, sons of Lord Elrond and his adopted brothers. He was in the midst of packing in his room when the two burst in with mischievous grins adorned on their faces, like always. Estel. That was the name they had given him by the elves when he first arrived into Elrond's care. It has always stuck with him, perhaps it is because it has much affection attached to it from his adopted family. It also went with the theme of having the males in their family with names starting with "e." According to Ro and Dan, they were the ones who had given him the name Estel. Though they weren't very credible because they were quite the compulsive liars.

"Do be careful, dear brother. I heard that the east harbors blood sucking spiders bigger than the ones in Mirkwood that prey on sleeping soldiers." Elrohir exclaimed with more excitement than worry.

"And," Elrohir's double, Ellandan began to add more, "don't forget about the giant slithering worms –"

"Do not listen to them Estel, they spout nothing but lies." Arwen interrupted her brothers, and entered the room, trailed by her father, Lord Elrond. They were both holding some things in their arms, no doubt they were for him to take on his long and blind journey to the east.

Elrond shot his twin sons his infamous glare of disapproval before returning to smile at his adopted human-son. "I have never ventured deep into the east myself, but I know that that they are widely different people than people in the West. They are known for their merciless and brazen warriors. It will do you well not to approach anyone unless you absolutely have to for they will know you are from the West, their enemy, and they will kill you on sight. It is also to be expected that Westron will not be widely spoken there; my guess is that they speak Black Speech mostly since they are allied with Mordor and the darkness has been in the East for as long as even the oldest elves can remember."

 _Great_ , Aragorn thought to himself wryly again, _not only will I be thrown blindly into the east, I will have no chances of gaining any information from the locals_.

"You must hide your identity at all costs, venturing into the east is the same as walking into Mordor. Everyone will be after the head of Isildur's heir there. You must abandon all western customs and your elvish ways," Elrond added and handed him a sheathed sword. "For this long journey, I give you Langoril, Glittering Sword, to aid you and to keep you safe so that you will return to us safely."

Aragorn took the sword gently from Elrond's extended palms. He unsheathed it to marvel at its newness and shininess. It was by far the most beautiful sword he's ever seen. Like all other elven swords, it was as light as a feather in his hands and no doubt swift. Langoril glittered a sparkly silver sheen in the sun light coming from the windows behind, just like its name's meaning. The hilt was grasped comfortably in Aragorn's hands; the padded leather added a strength and ease to his grip. A nice contrast to some other swords, Aragorn pleased to feel that there would be no painful callouses coming from Langoril and he could finally discard his old sword.

"Hannon le," Aragorn inclined his head to Elrond in thanks.

Elrond placed his hand his human-son's shoulder while giving him a look of seriousness and worry, "Just stay safe."

XXX

Aragorn had been traveling for several days now. He set off from Imladris almost three weeks ago, and he had just passed through Gondor disguised as his old alias, Thinengol, for supplies exactly one day ago. He was now making his way quietly into the desert wastelands of Harad, avoiding the watchful spies of Mordor. Using the cover of the night, Aragorn slipped past the border separating the east and the west rather easily. There weren't wargs or orcs anywhere in sight standing guard but he couldn't help feeling unnerved as Mordor's peak was still visible in the far distant horizon. He knew within Mordor housed an unsurmountable force of the Sauron's soldiers. They could easily come after him and the rest of Middle-Earth would surely fall afterwards.

It was strange to think how his life was so tightly connected to the fate of Middle-Earth's. Growing up, he hadn't thought himself to be that important. Just a young boy living with elves. And then he found out he was the lost king and there were even poems about him which he thought was completely ridiculous. Oh how he wished he could just be a plain elf so he could be with Arwen for all eternity. But of course, if he was only a plain elf he may not have caught the eye of Arwen. It was really a double-edged sword.

The sun bore down on his head painfully, despite the hood he had on. His sweat pooled heavily and uncomfortably all over his body. The thick leather armor he usually wore for travel was not doing him any favors. He prompted for his horse to pause to shed his leather pads in hopes of cooling down.

Sand dunes stretched for as far as he could see in every direction. It only took a few minutes of riding for the greens of the west to disappear altogether. Aragorn was lost and an unsettling feeling grew in his stomach. There was no one to ask for directions. He was surrounded by enemies. The east was a complete labyrinth to him; he was completely out of his element. There were no deer for him to hunt for food. He has absolutely no knowledge of any water source, which he was quickly panicking about. His horse was panting and slowing down quick. Feeling for the poor animal, Aragorn decided to jump off to lighten the load on the animal. He reached for his water canister and poured out some water onto his palm for his horse to drink. After he felt the horse was satisfied, he grasped the reigns gently before leading the stallion onwards.

Aragorn knew he needed to find water quickly. The lembas bread the elves gave him would last for another week. But for the sake of both himself and his horse, he needed to find water fast. Many hours later, the harsh sun continued to beat down on him. He kept hoping that some water source would be ahead but alas the entire place was barren. Nothing but sand; there weren't even stones or small shrubs. His horse was giving out. Her hooves kept sinking into the sand making walking a strenuous task and she was getting sun burnt beneath her hair much like Aragorn was on the parts of his body that weren't covered by anything. The sands were also shifting beneath his feet which too made the simple task of walking strenuous.

It was now fast approaching evening and the hotness of the desert was disappearing. Aragorn was pleased to finally stop sweating. An entire day of walking in the hot desert had made him extremely tired. He still had not encountered water nor seen any type of life for that matter. If this continued he was sure he would die. He could turn back now and make it back to the familiar lands of the west but that would mean abandoning his mission altogether.

Aragorn decided it was not the time to decide. He would wait for tomorrow morning before making a decision. Right now the night was closing in and he would need to find shelter and replenish himself. The desert was a problem for Aragorn again. There was nothing for him to sleep on or by. In the forests in the west, he could gather some branches to make a nice tent that blocked out wind and rain or he could climb a tree and sleep there. In the desert, there was only sand. Trying his luck, Aragorn urged his horse with sweet elvish words forward a few more hours in hopes of finding some sort of vegetation. Honestly, Aragorn just wanted something other than sand.

Nothing.

It was now late into the night and Aragorn could barely see anything. His horse was panting again and Aragorn decided he really needed to stop for the night. It had gotten extremely cold, almost like he was in the wintery lands of the north. _How did it get so cold_ , Aragorn thought to himself. He shivered as he plopped down on the sand in hopes of getting some sleep for the night. Taking a small bite of Arwen's lembas as well as small sip of water, Aragorn was ready to sleep. His eyes were fighting to stay awake and every bone and muscle in his body was crying for rest, something Aragorn wasn't exactly accustomed to since they were well toned from years and years of battling and traveling. He sighed to himself and hoped tomorrow would be a better day.

It didn't feel long after Aragorn had managed to drift off to sleep did he hear a lone howl. It was close too. Aragorn jolted awake and unsheathed his sword. His horse behind him shifted in anxiety, she too feeling something was amiss. It was pitch dark with no shrubbery around him to hide in. The howl came again, now a little closer. The awful feeling in his stomach was back again. Never had Aragorn felt so panicked with his heart thumping hard against his rib cage and his lungs squeezed uncomfortably tight. _What is out there_ , Aragorn questioned, seeing that he had not seen a single life force during the day. Did animals only come out during the night, erupting from the sand here in the desert?

Aragorn waited and waited but nothing came. He heard the howls slowly get farther and farther to his relief. 10 minutes of silence went by before Aragorn felt he was safe and attempted to fall asleep again. Luckily, the rest of the night went without a hitch other than the extreme coldness.

The next morning, Aragorn was woken up by the familiar heat. It was so unbearable Aragorn decided to shed more of his clothes. Now only in his light tunic and leggings, he felt the heat was slightly more bearable. But if he were to come across any enemies, he would surely be in quite the danger because he no longer had his thick padded leather as protection.

Water supplies were now completely gone. Aragorn tried to save them until he needed it the most but his horse was dying and his heart wrenched as his mare begged for water. He had not ridden her since yesterday. _How does anything survive here?_ It wasn't surprising to Aragorn that Harad was called a wasteland – a barren land of nothing but sand. Nothing could survive out here, not any creature or plants, not even orcs. He supposed this was somewhat a good thing since it meant he would be safe from any orcs sighting him. But then he thought about what occurred last night. The lone howls still gave Aragorn an unsettling feeling as the sounds echoed in his head again.

Hours later, Aragorn still found himself seeing the same scenery. It was like he hadn't moved at all. Water was again, nowhere in sight. He was growing desperate now. If he turned back, which he surely could not because he honestly did not know where he was going anymore. Footprints disappeared so quickly in the sand that he could retrace them back to the west. He supposed he could turn exactly 180 degrees, but it was no sure way of telling him he was heading back home or just simply another direction. The only option would be to travel in the night, under the guidance of the stars. Then the stars would point him in the right direction of north, south, west, and east.

Should he stop now and turn back before he was too far? Aragorn was struggling to come to a decision. When was the last time he completely gave up on a quest? This quest was a complete lost. No guidance, nothing. He grew a little angry at the fact Gandalf had sent him on such a lost quest. The east was a massive place even though it was still considered a third of the size of the west. But, no one knew anything about the east not of its land or of its people's customs. Not even Gandalf knew, and he had roamed Middle-Earth since the beginning of time.

In the distance, Aragorn nearly shouted in joy when he saw something green and blue. It was an oasis, with azure sparkling water. Only, when he broke out in a run with his horse in tow that he realized he was only hallucinating. The oasis quickly disappeared before his eyes as he blinked. His mind was playing tricks on him which frightened Aragorn. Never had this happen to him before only when he had been poisoned by an orc's arrow when he was younger on an orc hunting expedition with Ro and Dan. Elrond had come to his rescue instantly upon arrive home to Rivendell. Here, it was no poison that was coursing through his veins only thirst for water and utter hopelessness.

Time was no longer a clear judgement of Aragorn's. It felt like days had gone by but the sun seemed to remain in its exact position as hours before. It was absolutely a miserable hot, burning down on himself and his horse. Aragorn tried his best wrapping his head with some of the clothing he had shed to keep the sun from beating down on top of his head. It provided much needed shade from the sun but it quickly grew suffocating as it only incubated heat on his head and neck.

This time Aragorn actually stopped. His horse neighed in exhaustion but still waited patiently for her master's next order. Aragorn glanced back over his shoulder. He should've turned back a long time ago. Now without water, he would not even make the trek back to the nearest river in the west.

Howls came suddenly and Aragorn whipped his head forward. His eyes squinted on the horizon. They were the same as last night's. He unsheathed Langoril and hoped whatever was out there would leave him alone. His horse pranced nervously on her hooves.

" _Do not worry."_ He whispered softly to his horse in Sindarin.

She seemed to calm down a bit and place her trust in Aragorn to get them both out of the situation.

Wargs suddenly burst onto Aragorn from behind, taking him in surprise. He hadn't even heard them. Aragorn lashed out with his sword, killing the one on top of him instantly. Then he set to battle the ones on top of his horse. He shouted at them incoherently to get their attention and he slashed them down as they dived for him. The wargs were defeated soon enough but Aragorn's heart would not still. How had he not heard them?

"Skótose to dytikó!" A shout came abruptly from behind Aragorn.

He turned just in time to block a heavy blade cutting for his neck. The wargs were only the first wave of attacks. Slashing and twirling to guard himself, Aragorn was able to cut down two men. But he missed the long-distance archer who had been aiming atop his warg since the beginning of their attack.

A horrendous pain erupted in his left shoulder. Something warm and wet gushed onto his thin tunic; he knew immediately the substance was blood. Biting through the pain with the adrenaline in his veins, Aragorn swiftly pulled out the knives hidden in his pocket to take down the archer before he could draw another arrow. Blood spurted as the archer fell off his warg. Without its rider, the warg quickly tackled the slowed ranger to the ground, sinking its teeth deep into Aragorn's side. Langoril cut deeper into the warg's side as Aragorn dove his sword down on the warg to get it to release him. He nearly screamed out in pain as the warg fell to the ground with half his waist still in its jaws.

He was losing blood too quickly. And very soon, he knew he would lose unconsciousness and there was still two more enemies. Four if he counted the wargs the men were riding.

"Aragorn gios tou Arathorn, o Dáskalos tha mas anathései se megálo vathmó gia ti dolofonía sas. Ti tycherí iméra gia emás. (Aragorn son of Arathorn, the Master will greatly award us for killing you. What a lucky day for us.)"

Eyes widening in response, Aragorn looked up at who was speaking to him. Very few should know his name. In fact, Elrond and his mother had gone to great lengths to make sure it seemed the last of Isildur's line was gone. The two men before him were dark-skinned from what little he could see beneath the turbans and veils they wore. They were definitely Easterling though.

A sword was brought to Aragorn's neck, its sharpness already poking into his skin, drawing blood. He tried wrenching his side out of the warg's jaws again but they were stubbornly and painfully stuck in his side. The enemy's sword was now swung backwards, preparing to behead him in one swift, hard movement. The world was spinning around him as blood flowed out of his body like a river. Aragorn almost felt like laughing at himself. This was how he was going to die, in a hellish desert, stuck in a warg, and unconscious before the final strike even hits him. He let his eyes droop close and the darkness to take him. Hopefully, he wouldn't feel the blow of the sword.


End file.
